


The Best Gift

by papermoon2719



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 05:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13311417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papermoon2719/pseuds/papermoon2719





	The Best Gift

“Mama! Look what I made in school today!”

You smile when you see your five-year-old son running towards you, a colorful lump in his hand. Upon getting closer you realize it’s clay, probably the quick-dry stuff you have several tubs of at home.

“It’s for daddy’s birfday,” he says, missing front tooth obscuring the “th”. You drop into a low squat, taking it from him. You’re not entirely sure what it is, but you think it may be a sculpture of your boys. If the silver paint is any indication, of course.

“It’s beautiful, Bug!” you encourage, leaning forward to press a kiss to his plump cheek. He wrinkles his nose (the same way Bucky does, and it makes your heart flutter in the exact same way), taking the sculpture back.

“D’you think he’s gonna like it?” Billy asks, looking at it doubtfully. You tuck an unruly chestnut curl behind his ear and run your thumb over his cheek.

“I think daddy’s gonna love it, Bug,” you answer, standing. He takes your hand, waving goodbye to his teacher as you make your way out of the building. The walk back to the Tower is short, and you let him wave your ID in front of the scanner and press the buttons in the elevator. You know that Bucky is training with Steve right now, so you offer to help Billy wrap his gift.

Close to an hour later you finish, and Billy grins proudly at his masterpiece.

“You really don’t want to take off some of the ribbon, Bug? Daddy might have to get out one of his knives for this,” you ask for the fourth time, hands on your hips as you stare at the now-paper-covered lump sitting on the desk in his bedroom. He mimics you for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nope. It’s good.”

You sigh, picking it up and setting it carefully on the shelf at the top of his closet. There’s a thump by the door and suddenly Billy is gone, jumping into Bucky’s outstretched arms.

“Hey, Bud! How was school?” he asks, scooping your son up against his chest. Billy shrugs.

“It was okay, I guess.”

You smile, shoving the present behind an old box of Legos before walking over to join your boys in the doorway. Bucky grins at you, leaning down to give you a kiss.

“Hey, dollface,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. Billy makes a retching sound and you pull away from each other, you giving him a raised eyebrow and Bucky chuckling.

“Can you put me down if you’re going to be gross, dad,” Billy whines, pushing on Bucky’s shoulders. He sets him down, ruffling his hair.

“Y’know, you’re not going to mind us being gross once you have a little brother or sister,” Bucky chides, which earns him a back-handed smack to the chest. You shoot him a warning look as Billy stares at him, confused.

“Got homework, Bug?” Bucky recovers, and you let your gaze soften. For someone who damn near lost his shit when you told him you were pregnant, he sure does a fantastic job as a father. Billy nods sullenly, walking over and grabbing his backpack.

“Can you help me with it?” Billy asks, his blue eyes large. Bucky smiles and nods.

“Let me go take a quick shower and I’ll be right out to help,” he answers. You set a hand on Billy’s back, gently guiding him out to the eat-in kitchen of your family’s quarters.

“Sweet snack or salty snack?” you ask, walking over to the designated after-school-snack cabinet. Billy hums in indecision, finger on his chin dramatically.

“Sweet,” he finally says. You nod, reaching in and grabbing a single-serving bag of cookies. You grab a bottle of water out of the fridge and head back over to the table to get Billy started on his work.

“When can I give daddy his present?” Billy whispers. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“How about tonight at his birthday dinner,” you suggest. Billy nods, picking up his pencil.

You’ve just finished his math work when Bucky walks in, his hair wet and a towel around his shoulder. He drops a kiss to the top of Billy’s head, then yours.

“Still need help, or does mama got this?” he asks, venturing to the fridge for his own bottle of water. Billy’s eyes light up.

“Yes! You can come help,” he answers. You move to stand but Billy grabs your hand.

“Mama, you stay, too.”

Bucky drops into the chair on the other side of him, shooting you a smile as he leans over to help Billy with his letters. 

* * *

 

Bucky’s birthday dinner is quite possibly your favorite family tradition. It started when you were pregnant; Bucky made Tony promise not to throw him a wild party, so instead he bought a giant dining room table and hosted a family-style dinner instead. It stuck, and every year on March 10th everyone gathers around it at 7:30 sharp, passing giant bowls of spaghetti and meatballs, penne with pesto, and fettucini alfredo around. There are at least a dozen baskets overflowing with Mario’s famous garlic knots and two enormous salads. Tony always orders a case of Italian wine, and he has a Tiramisu from Le Beccherie in Treviso flown over from Italy.

It’s always loud, messy, and the most fun you have all year, save for Christmas. This year is no different. Billy’s currently in Steve’s lap, listening intently to a story involving Bucky, a firecracker, and a bag of dog poop.

“Steven Grant, don’t you go giving my son any ideas,” you warn, taking a long pull of wine. Steve grins across the table at you, then continues his story. You feel Bucky squeeze your knee and you look at him, leaning into his side.

“I love you,” he says, leaning around to press a kiss behind your ear. You sigh, letting your eyes drift shut as your hand covers his.

“Hey, none of that at the table,” Tony calls, and you open your eyes to find him watching you. “There are children present.”

Peter snorts into his water and Tony raises an eyebrow.

“I was talking about you, Spider-boy.”

Peter rolls his eyes, ignoring Tony as he takes a bite out of his garlic knot. You turn back to Bucky, giving him a chaste kiss before looking at Billy.

“Hey, Bug, didn’t you have something you want to give daddy?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and grinning at him.

“Oh, yeah!” he cries, jumping off of Steve’s lap and running around to the kitchen counter. He grabs his gift, ribbon trailing behind him as he runs over to Bucky.

“Happy birfday, daddy,” he says, holding the gift out. Bucky grins at him, hooking a hand behind his neck to gently pull him in and kiss his forehead.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says. Billy climbs into your lap as Bucky starts on the ribbon, everyone’s eyes on him. You make eye contact with Nat, who exchanges smiles with you.

Bucky finally gets all of the ribbon off, not needing the help of his knives (much to your surprise), and the look on his face when he sees the sculpture brings tears to your eyes. He’s looking at it the same way he looked at Billy the first time.

“I love it, bud,” Bucky says, cupping your son’s cheek. Billy flings himself into Bucky’s arms, earning a few “aw”s and some hitched breath. You glance at Steve to find he’s just as misty-eyed as you are.

“It’s you and me, see?” Billy explains, pulling away enough to run his chubby fingers across the two joined lumps of clay. Bucky nods, arm tightening around his waist. “I know it’s not the bestest, but it’s for you.”

Bucky’s smile softens. “No, bud.  **It’s _supposed_  to look like this**,” he whispers, pressing kisses to Billy’s face. You feel a tear break loose and, judging by the sniffles, you can tell there isn’t a dry eye in the room. You catch Bucky’s eye as Billy buries his face in his daddy’s neck and you don’t need words to know what he’s thinking.

We did good.

There’s a loud clatter and Tony clears his throat, everyone’s eyes snapping to him. He’s wiping his own with his napkin, wiggling his nose minutely. He swallows and looks at his plate, his voice rusty with emotion when he speaks.

“So, who’s ready for dessert?”


End file.
